mais oui...

Happy New Year!

May it be full of wonder, magic and awe.

all my love!

the end of the love life musings.

This is the first time in my love life where things don't make sense. I can't rely on the information I know, my experiences to guide me, other people's opinions to illuminate things. Everything I think I know turns out to be total bullshit. I can't decide if it's a matter of finding out the truth or trusting myself above all. I guess in a way it's a little bit of both, because even if people present me with what's true for them, I don't allow it to undo me, because I can't.

Unnecessary accessory boy has been randomly texting me plaintively for the last couple weeks. And I decided I'm done with him. He is bad news. He has nothing but a vein of the purest misogynistic anger that I have ever encountered. Yet, his presence in my life left its mark. I think of him often, I feel confused about why it went so wrong. I know that I did my thing that I do in relationships, but it was met with resolute anger and a wall of meanness. And I will not go out with someone who's a contrary bastard. I did that for three and a half years and it left me empty, I have no more fight left. All I can do is whimper and shut down in the face of that.

So I randomly texted him my reason for not responding. His missives (eight or nine) followed quickly, one after the other, at first neutral, then filled with some of the most vile things, attacking me on many levels. I read them, I still have them on my phone, but I know myself, his opinion of how it went simply isn't true. His idea of being in a relationship is having all the control, and he does that through manipulation and truth bending. He even denied sending me any texts.

With the Man of the Year, my intuition began to falter in the last few days because I'd communicated with him in various ways and had not gotten a response. Maybe there was simply nothing for him to say, but the agony I felt over the last few days just makes me wonder. Do I want to be with someone who can't be bothered to give me a simple response? Just as I began to give up on him, with the full bag of tears, frustration, inability to concentrate on anything else, he texted me back. He had no apologies, no promises, but there was a depth there that implied we'd gone beyond pleasantries. I even wondered if he'd been drinking.

Once you've gone to the brink of despair about a man, it's very difficult to turn back and act like nothing's wrong. And that's what I do in relationships. I get all about them, and then I go into despair, and then the chance of having a proper relationship based on trust is gone. I hold them to a high standard, if I give you something, it ought to be acknowledged. Maybe even reciprocated somehow. I have gotten better at not lashing out if this doesn't happen. People are who they are. They're not like me. I have a wellspring of words to give. When I put my bet down and roll the dice, my optimism fades. I gamble like it's the only chance I've got.

I figure over the last three months with the man of the year, I've made a lot of progress. I have despaired, but then returned, not stiffly, not with anger, but with understanding and love. I've done other things I need to do. I know it's not about me, whereas in other relationships, it was always my fault that they couldn't love me enough. Even though I have one foot out the door, ready to bolt at the slightest shadow, I have waited for him.

I'm tired of struggling over my relationships with boys. I feel the urge to give up, focus all my energies into grad school and the next year and just be happy in my own life, with myself. Every time I resolve to do this, they return, in small ways or big ways, and I am distracted by the possibility that this time it might be the message I was waiting for. Instead it always disappoints. And I must do the work of retracing my steps and returning to what's important.

The good news is, I take fewer steps back each time.

here comes the storm

The Man of the Year has made bold moves in my direction. He has gone out of town for the "holladays" and has not only responded to my texts in kind, but has also emailed me. He asked for my email some days ago; I presumed in an attempt to locate my myspace page. He has filled out an address entry in his email for "Christena Coffegirl." What infatuation I once held has become full-on fervor. His email contained the most personal and confidential information, the sort that one might share with a close friend. And yet, he shared it with me, the coffeegirl.

And now, I shiver and tremble, waiting in my spot, biding my time, wondering how it will go, and if this means anything, if this means we are having a relationship, if this means we will actually spend time in each others' vicinities without a countertop between us.

I feel I cannot force the issue. I fear I will cause whatever this is (progress?) to take a turn for the worst. I am terrified. I want to grab him and kiss him. I want to run away and hide. It is the oddest feeling. I want to ask him out for new year's eve, but I feel I must let him do the next step. I wonder how the time passes until it simply does, and I find myself in bed unable to sleep for the giddy thrill that races through me each time my mind skips across his name, or replays his last great laugh, or sees again that infamous wink (and it's companion, the once mentioned, dulcet stuffed, "Hey, peaches").

And it is Christmas. And he is somewhere thinking of me. He is somewhere far away and his mind is fingering the dark curls of my ponytail, the freckles on my skin, the easy conversations we've shared.

This has been the most unusual of holidays. I have spent my morning audibly tickled by my father, and my evening languishing in conversation with my mother.

I spent the time in between with Marilyn, whose gifts for me were far more sophisticated than I can hardly understand, yet they suit me perfectly. Her presence in my life has been steady and kind, and I have felt us growing closer, almost like two indistinct entities who have always been this way and none other, and we have a deep understanding of each other. She is my best friend. I feel completely known by her, and it is pleasant to spend time with her. Her ways amuse me, and she feels loved. She says, "It would be nice to drink some champagne!" and then a laugh, "Too bad I drank it all!" I surprise her with hysterical laughter that bubbles from the core of my being, for she is something else, and I know her all too well.

For one of my friends, my Christmas text to her was all too precise, and she called me with tears in her voice, and her heart in her throat, and I forgot the weeks since we'd seen each other last, and we melted into sorrow together.

I spent time with my family, and it was hectic. We are growing. There are more of us. They are small, and wanting for attention. And my smile grows wide when they are around.

Sitting on the front steps with her in my lap, her laughter wrapping around us, her beautiful dress billowing over my legs, her tickle spots unearthed, her sadness pushed away just for me, I asked, "Should I have Grandma take a picture of us together?" She shook her head no. I could see the pleading in her eyes. And like the other times we've spent together, we don't need words to communicate, I know her and she knows me, and we are one and the same, and we are beautiful together and there is nothing that is necessary when we are together and she wants nothing more than that moment to belong only to us; to have grandmothers coming over to take pictures would spoil the entire thing. So I persist in tickling her and she throws her head back and laughs and exposes her neck, the most ticklish area of them all, and I love her. Right then, I love her more than I've ever loved anyone in my life.

They leave in a flurry and we are alone again. We are back to our small bunch. We are shiftless and restless together. We have no reason to be together. We don't match anymore. I feel this most with my brother, whose reason for living is muddled by the realities of the world and its unfairness, and its lack of maps for some of us, and its oversight of him and his way in the world. Who is he supposed to be? When is he supposed to be? And he falls asleep, drifting into a world that makes the time pass and doesn't ask anything of him.

While he tosses and turns on the couch, my mother and I speak easily together, and the words follow the cigarette smoke between us, and I feel like crying when I tell her all of my hopes and dreams for the next year, which I have declared will be the best of my life until another comes later on to surpass it. I tell her, it is the year I will get married, it is the year I will join a master's program, it is the year I will travel abroad again (and we shall do this together), it is the year when my life will truly become solidified, and she will be with me, either vicariously or by my side, and it will be the best year of her life also; perhaps.

And we talk about the men I have loved and how great they were. She loved them too, in her own way. Her face is paralyzed by tears when we speak of them and their successes. Her face is frozen by pain when we consider why the last one had gone so badly and ignored the invitation to join us at Thanksgiving, because not only would it have been nice for him to be there, but his absence was a slap in my face and she felt it in hers as well.

And for the first time in a long time, I will spend my holidays alone in my big bed, which is perfect for me now. I look forward to tomorrow. A morning with little Nina, whose face delights in my presence, whose spontaneous laughter is part of a game we used to play and I know that no matter who I have been in my life, good or bad, it is always about who I will be, and she knows that I will be wondrous and kind and beautiful for her.

In the evening I will celebrate the thirtieth birthday of my new, great friend, Annie, who is responsible for loaning me the phrase salt-of-the-earth, and whose listening of me is far beyond anything I could have mustered for myself. I am included among her small list of friends she wishes to spend her birthday with, and I feel honored by her invitation.

I am surrounding myself with only goodness, only kindness, the things I want to see reflecting back at me in the mirror, and I feel them emanating from me, I feel their desire to be a part of me, and in my own small way, I know I created the depth that runs underneath the profound love I share with others. And I love them more than they will ever know.

recovery part deux

As I let the minutes, hours and days pass, I realize I am in need of more recovery.

I got busy with school and kind of let it take over, especially since it was my top priority and it needed to be done by a certain date. In letting it rule, I dropped certain important things, my apartment (which is a disaster), my love life (which is surprisingly empty and okay), my communications with people (which I dearly miss) and my hobbies (which I've begun to slowly resume, starting, of course, with reading).

It seems strange to me that school is over. I know it is something I've been looking forward to for some time, but I feel a little lost at the moment about it. And as I await my results (so far, one "A" in Advanced Fiction), I find my mental state in that same (familiar) state of limbo. Will I apply to grad school? will I go somewhere out of state? will I attempt to become a freelance writer instead? what's next for me?

As for my apartment, it had to get cleaned at some point in the last two weeks, because I simply could not function inside of it unless it was picked up. I don't even remember when I cleaned it, and it has quickly returned to a mess. I have a lot of projects to do that involve drills, hammers, and time, and they are lying on the floor in front of their destinations, patiently waiting.

As for my love life, I'm not dating anyone right now. It feels good. It feels cleansing. Of course, I still pine for the Man of the Year, whose orbit around me feels shaky and spotty at best (dicey, even!), but I console myself with the fact that he is still circling about. We didn't see the play. We have no plans in the works. Yet, I realize that rather than inducing panic in me, or making me feel like I'm the problem, I have a lot of room for him to be weird and unlike any other guy I've gone out with. Not sure if that is because I feel so solidly that he does indeed like me and is just dealing with his stuff, or if I sense that forever is a longer time than a month or two and I can wait.

As for my communications with people, I have been lame. And a bit of the suck. And I am sorry. I feel like I can barely muster up the enthusiasm to get out of bed. I have hardly any appetite. I am experiencing a complete breakdown in my physical body. Is it that I haven't done yoga since school ended? Is it that I need some restorative rest? Is it that I am back in limbo land? I don't know. All there is to do is get back on the wagon of calling, emailing, and hanging out.

As for my hobbies, I trepidatiously brought a book with me all week and began reading it today. It was difficult to read. My brain is taxed. My head is throbbing. My eyes are weary. I read the Red Eye first. It is easy, digestable, and predictable. Yet, I found I enjoyed several lines in the novel, If on a winter's night a traveler...

slowly, I will return to some sense of normalcy, even if it is just a fresher, more confident stine, whose life is different, but not altogether new.

egads.

I am done with my undergraduate career.

when life is in your face, say hello and thanks for coming.

Intuition. I have lots of it. It sits in my bones and stares out at the world with a cold, dull stare. I eat it for breakfast. I shower a layer of it away and it builds up again. I go to sleep and find it between the covers, waiting to seep into my pores. I find it in the millipede that lives in my apartment, because nothing surprises me anymore, not even a big huge ugly creepy crawler.

More powerful than that, I have insecurity. I don't have as much of it, but that doesn't matter. It seeps out of me in my waking state, when I am around other people, when I am not sure if they like me and it pollutes the drinking water. It is the cold, hard, brutal knot of hate that sits like a popcorn kernel husk in the folds of my mind, an irritant, a thing to pay attention to during idle moments. At night I sleep with the confidence I own. During the day I conserve myself. I give my confidence to those whose bridges I've safely traversed, and even then I still step lightly, until the ground feels solid beneath me.

I notice the battle between them frequently, one is holding on so tightly, the other is trying to get in, and there are long nights of standstills, painful awful days of grappling, in which I am held hostage between them and there is nothing I can do but wait them out until they grow tired. During those hours or days, I suffer immensely, all the while knowing how unnecessary my agony is but being unable to put a halt to the stand-off.

I need them both. They balance me out, they make sure my head stays screwed on tight, and doesn't bloat from my triumphs. They are crucial elements to the make-up of me. I am getting better at listening to them instead of wondering how to exorcise them. They are the children of my mind and clamor for my attention and it is worse when I ignore them.

In the pursuit of the man of the year, I can say one thing, my intuition is stronger and it knows exactly what to do, it has all the time in the world for this busy man, this real man, this man who has "No time for love, Dr. Jones!" It knows how to talk to him (with results). My intuition knows what moves him, and it has been an interesting thing to trust myself for once when it comes to liking a guy.

In the past, my intuition always got shoved aside. Insecurity plauged me. It made me black inside. It made me bitter. I continuously shoved it aside:

in the case of unnecessary accessory boy [he paid so much attention to me, he seems to like me so much, "he validates my ego!" my insecurity pleaded] [my intuition countered, but you can't imagine him touching you. you want someone you're attracted all the way to, you know he's fucked up]

in the case of Mr. Burnham [he is doing all the right things! it feels right. he is reaching out to you.] [but he doesn't know what love is. he is scarred inside. he is phony.]

with scotty [he is creative and talented and could have any girl, but he wants you!] [he is not a match for you, you have nothing in common, you are an experiment to him.]

My insecurity has been whining about the lack of action on the man of the year's part. [Where is he? If he liked you why isn't he calling? What the fuck?! I need to know, now!]

When I listen hard, when I look at all the evidence before me, when I see that objectively, I know he likes me. I know there's something going on over there with him (aside from owning his own business and being massively busy) that has him scared of even going out on a date with me. I know it has nothing to do with me. The lack of some kind of definitive motions on his part doesn't invalidate me. I am still an amazing girl. And I overlook that a lot. That I haven't changed just because he hasn't called. I'm still living my life and being great when I can and it's not because anyone's there to see it, it's because that's who I am.

The thing about my intuition is, as I look back on all the times I've ignored it, all the times I've stepped over it to dwell in melodramatic emotions, how I tried to get my feelings validated for my ego's sake, it was always right. It always knew the answer and I fucking didn't listen.

Not anymore. The man of the year needs space? I'll give him space. Hell, I don't really have time for him anyway. I may not even be ready to be in a relationship again. I know that's what's best. It's been a whole month since he gave me those cd's? oh fucking well. he hasn't changed either. he just has life in his face and he doesn't know what to do now. and maybe he's waiting to see if I'll stick around, because the other ones didn't, the other ones wouldn't, they didn't understand the busy, they didn't have room for him to be a busy guy and be their boyfriend, maybe their insecurity sucked the marrow out of their relationship and he's afraid of anyone with teeth.

but I'm not gonna not be me. I made an emotionally risky move over the text messaging (so addictive and so easy and so careless) and I agonized all weekend for it, until I realized that just because I told him what I did, nothing had changed. he was still stuck with life in his face, and I was just being me. and putting myself on a ledge, with the knowledge, the intuition that he will be there if I let go. because intuition lives somewhere where words don't matter. and that requires faith in the intangible.

If it turns out I fall and he's not there, then at least I can move on knowing I put myself out there, even though life got in my face.

t minus panic, and one week left of mania

The most amazing thing happened to me the other day. I was sitting on the bus, I was daydreaming, thinking...

Suddenly, a young man boarded the bus. He looked familiar. He was wearing sunglasses, but I could tell he was looking at me. He had funny teeth. He looked a little like Steve Buscemi. He sat down in the seat in front of me, and that's when I realized who he was. I couldn't remember his name. Was it Adam, or something like that? But who he was, I knew. And the implications of who he was, it was like a punch in the stomach, a kick to the chest, and a blow to my head, all at once.

I met him at Uncommon Ground, that night; that night. I met him the same night that I met many other people, but namely, Rob. Oh, that was a night. I had no plans or intentions for how it went, and I ended up having an amazing time. That night created deep chasms in two of my most important relationships at the time. And the crazy thing is, it was probably the most thrilling night of my life thus far. I was the most self-expressed and comfortable in my own skin than I have ever been.

Many of you know the story of that night. I think the only one who doesn't know is my daddy. I didn't write about it on my blog, because the truth is, I never write about the things that hurt deep down, the things that infect my core, plaugue my thoughts, and turn rotten inside me.

I wanted to reach out and tap this guy on the shoulder and ask him, "Where can I find Rob?"

I didn't. Instead, I sat there and mentally grappled with the idea of what was the best thing for me.

And in the end, I got off the bus and let that story in my life close, even though the universe offered me one more chance at a connection with a guy that I had the most intense immediate attraction to. The truth is, I know what's best for me and right now, it's not a guy with no home, no phone and no motivation. It's not a guy who comes off like an idiot to everyone around him. Yes, he doesn't meet my criteria, which, much to my surprise, has become the focal point of my dating landscape, and everything along the way to that point is just a distraction and I can't be bothered.

And it amazes me. that night still continues to echo in my mind. And I wonder, what would have happened if it had been Rob on the bus and not Adam. Would I still feel so triumphant? Would I still be so sure of myself?

hands of euphemisms

I know that winter is really here, not because of the snow that fell, or the cold temperatures, but because my hands are dry and cracked and full of pain.

This comes at the worst time, this swollen skin, these flecks of pain, at the end of the semester with numerous amounts of writing (or typing at the keyboard) to do, and I never thought it would hurt to write/type, but it does, it hurts in every knuckle and on every other finger, and the stretching of my fingers across the keyboard doesn't help.

I've tried band-aids, lotion, neosporin, but when you use your hands the way I do, and you have a centimeter of skin that has spilt open just above the knuckle on the thumb you often use, there is no remedy.

I keep trying to tell myself that it'll all be over soon. Soon I won't have to worry what kind of condition my hands are in, soon, I won't have to care about anything school related, until I have to again.

and when the winter passes, my hands will heal, they will mend themselves back to normal.

an update of frantic proportions.

School's almost over. My undergraduate career will soon be a memory and not a reality. I can't quite fathom what it's gonna be like. And I'm so overwhelmed with the final projects and things to do that I think I will get a total of ten hours of sleep this week.

my apartment is starting to come together. I've been shopping at urban outfitters like a madwoman.

I bought myself new clothes today for the first time in a while. I bought size 12 jeans! hooray for me. I am very pleased at the results of this summer's attempt at losing weight. I know everyone thought Marilyn and the cleanse was fucking nuts (trust me, I was right there with you), but I have to say, that was the best thing I did for my body in a while. I feel so much lighter and better.

the man of the year and I are going to see Edward Gorey: The Musical. I asked him. I feel this is an acceptable way to get the ball rolling in some direction. He seems to be pleased about it being a musical. That tickles me. We've been having very awkward interactions, there was some coffee spilled and some gazing and some verbal tripping over tongues happening.

unnecessary accessory boy feels unduly blamed for how it went between us. it is highly confusing.

ran into eric at a bar and despite our previous progress, we took five steps back and ended up arguing at the bar, likely due to a high level of alcohol. and basically, he is still very angry with me. that will take some time to dissipate.

I have been working a lot.

I miss you.